


A Steady Beat

by CravingCraze



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: (;, Connor Deserves Happiness, Everyone lives/Nobody dies, Fluff, M/M, drummer connor, evan likes connor not zoe, evan pines, jazz band, jazz band connor, little angsty, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravingCraze/pseuds/CravingCraze
Summary: Notes and melodies began to fill the auditorium, trumpets popping harmonies, and saxophones slurred rhythms, while the trombones bobbed the harmony line, Zoe complimented the tune with plucks from her guitar, and Connor maintained the tempo, keeping it consistent and steady.It was one of the few things that was consistent about Connor. That guy was always different, every single day, sometimes walking into his Algebra II class with a smile, while other days he’d be yelling at their bitch of an english teacher, who taught the Junior class.He was a hurricane of emotions, and no matter how hard Evan tried, he could never find consistency with him.Evan, however, needed consistency. It helped him formulate plans as to what to say or talk about. It was just… helpful for his anxiety, despite the fact that nothing ever played out as well formulated as it did in his head, and just left him wishing he could’ve said more, but he lacked the courage to do so.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	A Steady Beat

**Author's Note:**

> ITS FINALLY READY!!!
> 
> I’ve been working on this for a very long time, loving it and tenderly perfecting it. I don’t have much to say, other than I hope you love this as much as I do.

Evan wasn’t a huge fan of jazz band, but he always enjoyed the magic their music brought into the auditorium.

The school’s jazz band was most likely one of the most underrated activities, when it came to attendances at concerts, and if Evan could actually  _ talk _ to people, he’d try to convince them to go. Unfortunately, he only had Jared, who at multiple times, voiced his disinterest for the band.

The auditorium, Evan noticed, was filled with parents and young siblings, and some friend groups who probably had nothing better to do that evening, as they chatted away and tapped at their phones. That was what was so  _ irritating  _ to Evan, was that they didn’t show any regard for the people performing whatsoever. They didn’t come because they  _ cared _ , they came for something to post about on Instagram or Twitter, make a fake post that was among the lines of ‘ _ Going to see the Jazz Band tonight! So excited!’ _ , and then talk all throughout the show. Evan knew this because he went to all of the concerts that year, and it wouldn’t  _ change  _ in the spring of Junior Year, because why would it? He actually made an effort to go to every single concert because the Jazz Band needed his small ticket price of four dollars. He even had to talk to Doctor Sherman about not having therapy on certain Friday’s because that’s when Jazz Band had their concert, and he’d be damned if he missed it. Ironically, Doctor Sherman was proud of him for going out and being social, which well, wasn’t  _ entirely  _ true, but talking to the guy at the entrance was enough, right? It totally was.

The band came out exactly at seven, prompting Evan to quickly shut off his phone as chatter declined. The band director began to talk about the pieces, and while Evan didn’t recognize any of them, he had to admit, they sounded interesting.

Set off to the left of the Jazz Band seats were Zoe Murphy, with her electric guitar swung across her shoulders, as she plucked each and every note out of the guitar with ease. She had her hair set up in a ponytail so it wouldn't fall in her face, and since all jazz band players had to dress semi formal, she wore a long, jean skirt, and a yellow dress shirt that sported a few flowers threaded near her shoulders.

But the real treasure was Connor Murphy, seated at a drum set, controlling the pace of the song with every beat of his drum, with his purple button up, and black dress pants, but what really set him apart from Zoe was that he let his hair run free as he banged enthusiastically and happily on his set. He blended both into the background and band's melody perfectly, almost too perfectly, because Connor was beautiful, with his long, almond colored hair, sharp features and soft eyes. Despite the cruel and unforgiving reputation he'd earned at their school, Evan couldn't help but like him, because whenever he played his drums, he saw an entirely different person, just letting everything out on the plastic and drumheads, with a smile, nevertheless.

The band director was back, snapping his fingers while tapping his foot, establishing the tempo for the first piece. Evan could hear him say quietly, "A one, a two, a one, two three four..."

Notes and melodies began to fill the auditorium, trumpets popping harmonies, and saxophones slurred rhythms, while the trombones bobbed the harmony line, Zoe complimented the tune with plucks from her guitar, and Connor maintained the tempo, keeping it consistent and steady.

It was one of the few things that was consistent about Connor. That guy was  _ always  _ different, every single day, sometimes walking into his Algebra II class with a smile, while other days he’d be yelling at their bitch of an english teacher, who taught the Junior class. 

He was a hurricane of emotions, and no matter how hard Evan tried, he could never find consistency with him.

Evan, however,  _ needed  _ consistency. It helped him formulate plans as to what to say or talk about. It was just… helpful for his anxiety, despite the fact that nothing ever played out as well formulated as it did in his head, and just left him wishing he could’ve said more, but he lacked the courage to do so. 

That was why he never talked to him. He could never figure out what Connor would say, or how he’d react. While it was unrealistic to say he’d get punched in the face just because he  _ looked  _ at the guy, Evan would probably say the wrong thing on accident, and either get yelled at or shoved. Most likely both. 

But  _ here _ , in the school’s auditorium, things were consistent and steady. They never changed, and stayed exactly the same.

And— wow. Okay, Connor apparently had a drum solo. Why didn’t Band Director Guy say that? Did he say that? Evan wasn’t sure.

How the  _ fuck _ did Connor play so good? Those were drums, one the most basic instruments that were used for establishing a tempo, and yet now he was making it something  _ else _ , it wasn’t just a boring few hits of the drumhead and a cymbal hit, but  _ no _ — no, Connor had to be his amazing self play at a pace that tested the tempo itself, as he crashed the cymbal not once, not twice, but three times in a row. Throughout this all, Connor’s expression didn’t drop, and he looked just  _ so happy _ , so full of bliss, just the opposite of how he appeared in the school day. 

Suddenly Evan scrambled to turn on his phone, wanting to record this little moment, but by the time it lit up, Connor’s solo was over and done with. 

Evan tried not to be disappointed. He could still record Connor and the Jazz Band if he  _ really  _ wanted to, despite his brain screaming at him for how weird that was, and that nothing exciting was really happening. He tried to reason with himself that  _ people did that all the time, that he wouldn’t get weird looks, and that he’d be left alone _ , but he just couldn’t believe it, because with his luck he’d be the guy a group of girls would bombard him with questions (that didn’t really make any sense, though, because people only seemed to have two sets for Connor; avoid him all together, or make fun of him).

Evan managed to get a short, one minute long video of Connor before their first song ended, in which he hauled his phone down so wildly he almost dropped it onto the concrete flooring of the auditorium, but righteously caught it in time (with no one noticing him fumbling for it,  _ thankfully _ ). 

The concert continued like that in a similar fashion for the rest of the songs, many leaving Evan to clap a little too loudly, or trying to contain his jitteriness.

“I’d just like to thank you all for coming out tonight. I think I speak for all the band when I say this year hasn’t gone easy. It’s been a  _ very rough _ year—“

The Band Director Guy was cut off by Connor, who drummed the oh so cliche ‘ba dum-tss’ bit. Band Director Guy glared at the students snickering, and Connor, who was wearing a mischievous smile.

Honestly, it was crazy how witty and brave Connor just  _ was _ , taking risks, not caring about whatever consequences came from his actions. Evan wished he could be more like that, more outspoken, more talkative, just… more than what he was. When Connor talked, he acted like his opinions  _ mattered _ , and that no one would ever be able to change that. The way he talked was like he was  _ challenging  _ anyone to try and tell him he was wrong, that he wasn’t making a good point, to try and test his vast intelligence because  _ holy shit  _ Connor Murphy was probably the smartest guy out of the entirety of his Algebra II class. 

After both the audience  _ and  _ band members seized their laughter at last, Band Director Guy could at last finish his speal, but no one was really engaged anymore, so he just wrapped up as quickly as possible, and then dismissed the Jazz Band.

Originally, Evan planned to  _ talk  _ to Connor afterwards, just to be cool and say “Oh hey, heard your solo. That was pretty cool.”. 

But  _ no _ .

No no no, his  _ stupid, fucking anxiety  _ had to start acting up, because he just had to start thinking about his hands, and how sweaty they were, and that he had to calm down before going to meet Connor because first impressions were important, and he didn’t want Connor’s first thought of him to be, “Wow, his hands are sweaty. Ew.”. 

_ Just _ . So many things would go wrong if they met like that. Connor would know Evan was just “the sweaty guy”, and he wouldn’t want to be around him because he’d notice his hands and how much they were sweaty, along with the spots where he rubbed the sweat away too, and that was disgusting so he’d  _ ruin  _ any remote chance he had before with him, so that’s why he was in the bathroom, aggressively scrubbing at his hands with soap, trying to get the sweat to wash away. 

Which well, just made them damp when he dried them off. That was lovely (not). That  _ definitely  _ solved his problems now, and Evan was tempted to try and wash them again just from how damp and mossy they felt. Maybe more paper towels would help. Then again, Evan didn’t want to be wasteful, since his hands were  _ technically  _ dry, and just, god, he needed to chill out and get his act together before Connor left, because this was his  _ last chance  _ to talk to him since this was the final concert of the year, and he really wasn’t looking forward to waiting until fall again, followed by waiting, waiting, and more waiting.

All he ever did was wait. He probably should’ve done more, in hindsight.

But before Evan could berate himself more, someone else entered the bathroom, and suddenly Evan found washing hands to be very entertaining.

Angelic, wispy hair, rolling down his shoulders, as dress shoes clambered against the floor, and purple button up sleeves were rolled as he entered the nearest available stall.

This was it. This was his  _ chance _ , and all he had to do was act natural (or however natural Evan could). He quickly shut off the water, dried his hands, and pretended to be looking at something on his phone, discreetly waiting for the latter.

He waited a moment as Connor turned on the school’s crappy fosses and ran soap and water underneath them, before speaking up and saying, “Um. I liked your solo.”

Connor raised his head and glanced at him. “What?”

“You— play the drums. You had a solo in that first song, and it—it was pretty  _ cool _ ,” Evan smiled cautiously, nerves trickling through his veins.

“Oh,” Connor looked  _ surprised _ , like he’d never expect anyone to say those very words to him ever. But he quickly hid it with a smile. “Thanks. It wasn’t too hard, though.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m uh, not in jazz band. Obviously. You’d probably know me if I was,” god, just  _ shut up _ and stop talking. 

“I know you come to our concerts, though,” Connor said it so nonchalantly, Evan thought he’d imagined it at first.

Connor… Connor noticed he went to their concerts? 

“Wait. You do?” Evan lifted his head, but resorted to staying hunched in on himself, as the tense muscles grounded him in a weird sort of way.

Connor hummed in affirmation, either not noticing how tense the other was, or just chose to ignore it. “Yeah. You’re like a normal part of the crowd at this point,” he shrugged slightly, smiling. “You always sit alone, wearing  _ that  _ pink button up,” he pointed to the very shirt Evan was wearing that day, and Connor was right. Evan  _ had  _ worn it to all their concerts; but how did he notice that? 

How did he notice  _ him _ ?

He resorted to shrugging back at the latter, unable to find words to respond with. Really, what was he supposed to say to  _ that _ ?  _ “Thank you” _ ,  _ “Oh that’s cool” _ , but definitely  _ not “You too?”  _ Because that’d just make him sound upright like a stalker. 

“You’re in my math class,” Connor pointed out. “And English. I just remembered your face.” 

“Oh,” he smiled weakly at him, “I… I didn’t think anyone would recognize me here…”

Connor rolled his eyes, smiling playfully. “Concerts are like the twilight zone. Nothing is as it seems.”

“Except me. I just… stay the same,” Evan stated, looking away.

“Really? Because I think you’re wrong,” he replied pointedly. “You’re different when you’re here.”

“What?  _ No _ , no, Jazz Band is just… it just makes me feel  _ happy _ , it’s nice, you know?” Evan tried to convince him otherwise, but it was apparent his mind wasn’t being changed now.

“You’re louder here,” Connor stated, like he was expecting Evan to  _ know this _ , which he didn’t, so how did Connor know? “I heard you clapping out there, you do this cute little dance whenever we play, and you even snap your fingers, probably to try and match it to the tempo. At least, that’s what I do.”

Evan wasn’t sure when he began blushing, but all he knew was that his face was  _ too warm _ and he didn’t like it, but yet he did at the same time because this was  _ Connor  _ making him feel all these emotions clouding his brain.

“I… I guess,” he caught a small hangnail in his peripheral version, and he subtly began picking at it with his ring finger.

“Can I take you somewhere?” Connor asked so abruptly, and Evan was sure he’d never expected it, even if he could time travel. He looked at Connor’s outstretched hand, and slowly took it.

“Um. Okay?” He said, and  _ god damn it _ , there it was, that beautiful, infectious smile that never failed to leave Evan swooning.

Connor pulled him ahead gently, leading him out of the bathroom, and suddenly Evan was reminded of his sweaty hand crisis, and Connor was  _ holding his hand _ so he had to notice it, and god, he was probably disgusted by him now, and he’d rip his hand away at any given moment.

But he didn’t. In fact, he pulled their arms closer together, which just wasn’t  _ fair  _ for his weak heart. How was he supposed to handle this minimal contact without mentally imploding? Or physically, he was pretty sure he’d just… fucking faint if this kept up.

Other students passed by them as they walked in a decently sized hallway, with people painted on the walls in their marching band uniforms, traveling down the hallway they went up. It suddenly dawned on Evan that they were in the  _ band hallway _ , like, the one where band kids get pissy at non band members who sit in it, throw their bags into, or Evan just hid there so they wouldn’t have to play.

The second Evan crossed the double doors and entered the band room, it felt like he was intruding. This wasn’t his turf, he didn’t belong there, but apparently Connor did, because he was the  _ only reason  _ he was back there in the first place. Students shut their cases and chatted with one another as they went to put their instruments away in cages (why in cages Evan would never know), while others texted, and Band Director Guy was on his phone, inside a small office, who shut the door.

Connor stopped at the very drum set that was previously out on the stage, and patted the black, sort of soft looking stool was surrounded by the other drums. “Sit down.”

He slowly took a seat, doing his best to get as comfortable as possible. Evan bit his lip when Connor handed him a pair of wooden drumsticks, partly because he didn’t know  _ how  _ to play the drums, and otherly because people would stare at him. It was different this time because there wasn’t any space to fill the void. There wouldn’t be a melody or a baseline, and the tempo would just… completely fall apart. 

Evan couldn’t do it. He’d  _ ruin  _ what Connor held so dear to him.

He must’ve noticed Evan’s distress, though, because he gently took his hands on top of Evan’s, and led them to the appropriate drum, and said softly, “Put your foot on that pedal, and just start tapping on it.”

Evan followed his instructions, gently pressing on it, making a little beat. It wavered and was inconsistent, but Connor looked satisfied. “Now just start hitting the drums. Do whatever. Express yourself.”

And despite not knowing what to really  _ express  _ because all his emotions were buzzing around all at once, he decided to do that imbalance. 

He began to tap gently on the snare drum with both sticks, experimenting with what he could create, before letting them travel upwards, gently hitting the rim of the cymbal, as he tentatively began to make a small rhythm.

And then he just let go all together.

As his excitement grew, he finally let go the idea of trying to  _ perfect  _ every little tap or hit, and just tried to have as much fun as he could, smashing the drumstick down against the cymbal as he ran the other on the other drums, and stepped on the pedal for the cymbal stick to  _ really  _ spice things up. For a moment, he forgot Connor was even  _ there _ , because he was in his own musical, little world, just for a little bit. But after a while, he suddenly realized Connor was watching, and stopped as smoothly as possible (which wasn’t that smooth) with a bright blush dusting on his cheeks.

“S—Sorry. I got carried away…” he whispered, spinning the drumsticks in his hands slightly, hitting one against his knee. 

Surprisingly, Connor was smiling at him, and shaking his head. “No, no, don’t  _ apologize _ — you were just— happy. Enthusiastic. Passionate. All of the above.”

Evan shrugged feebly, “But it— it wasn’t  _ good. _ ”

“Whoever said it had to?” Connor raised an eyebrow. “It’s all about having fun. Like, what’s something you like doing?”

“Writing poetry,” he brought the drumsticks together and held them tight.

“Well it’s exactly like that. You obviously had fun, and that’s all that matters,” Connor held his hand out, and Evan set the drumsticks in his palm.

Evan twisted his fingers tightly, until a small crack escaped out. “But— it’s important to you.”

He wasn’t expecting to hear Connor laugh, despite the shortness of it. “I’m just passionate about it because I  _ love it _ . It’s gotten me through some rough times. It was just something I wanted to share with you.”

Evan supposed that was fair, at the very least. But a thought suddenly came running through his mind and he asked,”Wait, what about your family?”

“Told them I was gonna help put stuff away and they could leave,” Connor put the drum sticks away. “I drove here.”

“Lucky,” he smiled weakly at him. “I just usually walk here.”

Connor held his hand out for Evan to take, who did and stood up. “Well hey, how about we grab something to eat together? To end the year with?”

“Um. No offense, but we barely know each other. Why would you want to go with  _ me _ ?” Evan thought for sure he’d want to go with band friends, or just  _ anyone else  _ but him. 

“You’ve gone to all of our concerts quite literally just to support us. We may not know each other  _ personally _ , but we still know each other,” Connor, once again, didn’t release his hand, which was fine with Evan, he personally loved it, but Connor was seriously being too nice for his own good. How in the  _ actual hell  _ was he supposed to handle a possible half an hour to an hour of this? 

“So,what’d you say? I know an  _ amazing  _ ice cream shop, you’ll love it,” Connor pulled him back into reality rather unexpectedly, but well, Evan wasn’t too bothered by it.

Really, he  _ couldn’t  _ say no to Connor’s kind eyes, those that were usually lit with a fierce fire. “Okay, you sold me,” he smiled slightly, and let Connor lead him outside to his car.

Connor drove a Subaru. Which okay, Evan thought of him as more of a truck guy, but okay. It was still a sensible, safe car, despite how fancy it looked, and Connor had one of the older models, with the blue and grey pattern, which was also way smaller than the current ones sold, but whatever, maybe Connor just liked old cars. Evan wouldn’t judge him on that. If he had the choice, he’d get a 1990’s Jeep, partly for the aesthetic, and because if he turned too fast, he could flip it, and his intrusive thoughts didn’t seem to mind that idea.

“The AC isn’t working right now, but that’ll be fixed soon,” he let Evan know as he backed out of the school parking lot, and rolled down both of their windows, letting the heat from inside of the car mix with the sort of cold, sixty degree weather outside.

“That’s fine,” Evan shrugged his shoulders, turning to look out the window. “So you like old cars?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor smile. “I love ‘em. Larry wanted me to get a Subaru, so I got this baby. She’s a 2000 Outback. The chaotic color scheme got to me, with the blue and grey.”

Evan snorted slightly, “That’s all that made you pick it?”

“I didn’t really care about the different brands at the time. I actually still don’t. I just wanted a car,” he grinned at him, before refocusing onto the road.

“Can’t blame you, I guess,” he smiled slightly, despite being unable to sympathize with him. He had his license, but driving kickstarted his anxiety. Still, he could understand  _ why  _ literally everyone but him was excited to get a car. 

Connor made a turn onto a gravel road. “You have a dream car?”

“A Jeep, I guess. 1990’s, if I can,” Evan looked around the gravel road and tried to ignore how the car was jumping around.

“Ay, a fellow old car lover,” Connor held his fist out, and Evan bumped it gently. “Didn’t figure you the type. Thought you’d prefer self driving ones or something.”

Evan made a face, “And be out of control of the car? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“A pretty anxious dude, that’s who,” he pulled into a small parking lot where a white building sat, with a pink roof and blue, yellow, and red, polka dots littered on the wall. He stopped in a parking space fairly decently and stepped out.

“Welcome to A La Mode, Evan,” Connor outstretched his arms dramatically as Evan stepped out, and he noticed the name of the parlor on a sign just outside the lot.

As they walked in, Evan absorbed it all in, starting with the pillow soft looking booths, curved tables, the jukebox near the bathroom, all the way up to the cashier wearing a blue shirt and jeans, with a pink, pastel apron.

It dawned on Evan that he’d have to  _ order _ , which was just great, another way to embarrass himself in front of Connor. He’d start stammering more than he already was, sweat pools in his armpits, and shake like a leaf because the cashier would have one of  _ those questions  _ he hadn’t thought of, and he’d make a stupid decision just so he’d take up less time, and Connor would be weirded out by him  _ for sure _ . His chance with him would be over, down the drain in just a matter of seconds.

But first, he had to focus on what he flavor wanted. He had priorities to keep.

“I think I’m gonna have the Peanut Butter And Vanilla flavor,” Connor told him as he led him up to the class where the flavors resided. “You should have it, it’s  _ so  _ good.”

“Oh, I can’t. I’m— allergic to peanut butter,” the small mention reminded him of the time he had to go to the emergency room before he had a Peanut Butter M&M, where he found out about the allergy in the first place.

The latter cringed in sympathy. “Oh shit. Okay, no peanut butter, then. I’m not risking it. Err… Rocky Road has vanilla, chocolate pieces, and melted chocolate chip cookies. Think you’d like that?”

The dark blue and light pink tones of the Cotton Candy caught Evan’s eye, who couldn’t help but grin at it. “You get that. I’m getting the Cotton Candy.”

“Got it. Cone or bowl, and if cone, waffle or regular?” Oh god, he was pulling out his wallet, why was he doing that? Was he going to  _ pay  _ for their ice creams?

This caused a blush to dust over Evan’s cheeks. “Oh— You don’t have to—“

“Can you get us a booth?” He’d asked so tenderly, so softly, Evan’s rambles died on his tongue, and as he blushed more, he nodded, silently, about to go, when Connor grabbed his arm.

“Cone or bowl?” He asked again, gently, which was just _ way  _ out of character for him.

“W—waffle cone, please,” he whispered, and the hand holding his forearm slowly released him, allowing him to quickly retreat to a booth by the window.

Despite how stalkerish it seemed, Evan couldn’t help but stare at Connor as he ordered, hiding his cherry red face in his arms. The guy had treated him with more common decency than anyone else ever had, besides his mom, and he couldn’t figure out why. What made him so special? Why did he  _ do  _ it? Could he sense his anxiety and decided to just take initiative? Because that… was nice. It definitely wasn’t something Jared would do for him in a million years. His mom would encourage him to just  _ try  _ ordering on his own, but Connor was different. He didn’t force Evan to break down his thought process. He didn’t need him to explain anything.

He just knew he didn’t want to be up there, so he offered an alternative route.

“One Cotton Candy on a waffle cone,” Connor was suddenly sitting across from him, handing said ice cream over to him. “And a Rocky Road for  _ this guy _ ,” he proudly pointed to himself, before starting to lick his ice cream.

“I can— pay you back…” Evan offered weakly, eating a small amount of his treat.

Connor just gave him a confused look. “I’m the one who brought  _ you  _ here. You literally don’t have to pay for anything.”

“Right,” he ducked his head slightly, before grabbing a couple of napkins for his hand. It’d inevitably get sticky and he hated the feeling all together.

A moment of silence passed over the two, before Connor asked, “How's your stuff?”

“G-good. Yours?” He was barely halfway through his cone.

“Amazing. Just the way I remember it,” he hummed, eating another piece.

Another silence fell over, but this time, it restarted the anxiety residing in Evan’s chest. He couldn’t think of what to talk about, his mind was just a useless blob, and he  _ needed something to say _ because things were getting awkward again. He needed to fix things, he needed to fix it  _ now _ but he didn’t know how, and he was certain he’d be caught in another downwards spiral and he’d freak out Connor for sure—

“So Evan, what’re your hobbies? Interests? Stuff like that.”

Fuck. Talking. Making conversation. He had to come back and start talking again. At least the silence was gone, now.

“Um. I like nature. You know, like trees and stuff,” he tried not to be weird about it. There weren't a lot of kids who were as passionate about it as he was. 

Connor seemed to smirk at this, “So, as a fellow nature enthusiast, do you agree that people should try to protect nature more, and not when it just benefits them?”

A  _ fellow nature enthusiast _ ? That was a very pleasant surprise to Evan, and he definitely wouldn’t complain now. “Yes! Nature is— the most beautiful and astounding thing on this planet! Not to mention it— trees literally keep us  _ alive _ , so replanting them, protecting them, and leaving them alone is the least we can do!” 

“Exactly! You get it! I mean, people bring food and shit to the parks, which is fine if they just hold onto their trash. But the second they start dumping shit is when they lose my respect,” Connor crossed his arms.

And thus, an environmental discussion began. Connor and Evan were both in agreement with whatever was brought up, for the most part, but used valid evidence to argue their case. The conversation wasn’t heated, but civil and light, sometimes they’d laugh at stupid jokes the other would make, argue lightly about dumb flaws in their explanations, or just actually smiled at each other. At some point, they were talking about Marvel and other random stories all up until their ice cream was gone.

Evan couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the night was ending. Despite the anxieties that followed him throughout it all, he didn’t want to stop hanging out with Connor. He never wanted the night to end. 

He quietly gave Connor general directions to his house, like “turn left here”, despite the fact they could’ve used Google Maps, but neither thought of that very option. The soft sizzle of the radio playing Classic Rock filled the silence as they waited to arrive at their final destination for the night.

Raindrops began to race down the windows of the car slowly, and when Connor pulled into his driveway, he wasn’t expecting him to whisper, “Wait.”

Evan turned his body to the other, one hand subconsciously resting on his leg, and offered an actual, real smile. “I— I had a really great time tonight.”

“I did too,” Connor replied, tenderly reaching over to him and placing his on top of Evan’s, and um. Okay. He was getting close, really close, and Evan couldn’t stop glancing at his lips.

“Y—Yeah..? That— that’s good,” why did  _ this  _ have to take his breath away? Out of everything else that happened, a little intimacy made him feel breathless? 

Connor moved a little closer, and his eyes flickered from Evan’s, to his lips, and then back. “Can I kiss you..?”

Evan nodded mutely, and suddenly his lips were meeting another pair, softly pressed against his, and he realized he  _ needed  _ to reciprocate it or he’d probably cause a freak out, and he didn’t want that happening because his crush was  _ kissing him _ , which he never thought would even happen to him, he liked him ever since his freshman year, and he loved him at the start of junior year, and he could never dream of hurting Connor  _ ever _ . So, he put his hands on his shoulders and pulled Connor closer, feeling the latter gently cup his face with a tenderness that almost made him feel like melting into his palm.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Connor pulled away at last for a chance to breathe again, but he didn’t move his hand, opting to rub Evan’s rather very red cheeks.

“I really liked that…” he whispered, urging himself not to shy away from the affection he was receiving.

“I did too,” he moved his hands away, and pulled a rather nice looking phone. “Can I… have your number?”

Evan nodded fast, fumbling to pull out his own. The case was incredibly worn down, but Connor didn’t seem to mind as they swapped phones, and exchanged information.

After they were done, Evan turned to leave, opening up the door, which let small specs of rain hit his arm and face, Connor tapped his shoulder, opting him to turn back around once again. 

Connor was holding out a grey sweatshirt for him to talk. “You’ll get wet without this.”

“Oh I— this is yours— I couldn’t take it,” he couldn’t just  _ take  _ his hoodie, he probably needed it, too,

Connor threw it at him, prompting Evan to let out a squeak. “Take it. Besides,” he paused dramatically, as he tapped the wheel, added innocently, “You can always return it to me tomorrow.”

Evan had blushed too much for one night. However, he smiled slightly, and pulled the jacket over his head to protect himself from the rain. “Okay. I’ll see you in math.”

“And English. Plus the hallways,” Connor watched him, smiling.

He quickly made haste to wave to Connor, and to get inside as quickly as possible. He shut his door quietly and sat on his bed, gently tracing the fabric of the hoodie.

It was one of the best concerts he’d ever been to. By far.

**Author's Note:**

> The Subaru Connor drives is a callback to my dad’s old car. I loved that car, even if they AC is shit.
> 
> I won’t keep you around much longer, I just hope you liked this, and if you did, please leave kudos and a comment to let me know!
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr! @CravingCraze


End file.
